


The Amazing Race

by fuzipenguin



Series: Sideswipe Watches Too Much Porn [4]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Established Relationship, Masturbation, Multi, Other, Sideswipe's sleazy sex talk, Sticky Sex, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 14:05:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sideswipe challenges his lovers to a masturbatory race.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Amazing Race

**Author's Note:**

> Based off my own kink prompt from the LJ community twins_x_ratch: "I would like to see some mutual masturbation with the 'winner' being the last to overload. Bonus points for Sideswipe's dirty, dirty mouth. I love it when he's all sex-talk sleazy and trying to get the others to overload through sheer power of obscene suggestion."

                It started, as many things do, with Sideswipe saying ‘I have an idea.’

                Ratchet’s excuse for agreeing to hear Sideswipe out was too much high grade; he’s not sure what Sunstreaker’s excuse is. Maybe the sheer resignation that comes along with being Sideswipe’s twin. 

                So Ratchet listened to Sideswipe’s ‘idea’. And at the moment, after too many close calls in the medbay and too much high grade clogging his processor, a masturbatory race seemed an acceptable way to pass the time.

                Now enough time has passed for his processor to have cleared a little, and he’s wondering what in the Pit he had been thinking. He’s sitting on the floor of the Twin’s room, leaning against Sunstreaker’s bunk. The floor is hard beneath his aft, and the berth edge is digging into the middle of his back something fierce.

                His lovers have their own spots claimed, the three of them making up the points of a triangle. Sideswipe is likewise on the floor, using the couch as a prop, while Sunstreaker is nonchalantly sprawled on the chair in front of his painting desk. Neither seems perturbed, but then again, they both have had long experience with the oddness that is Sideswipe’s processor.

                Ratchet, on the other hand, is fidgeting in place. His hands are lying in his lap and not so incidentally covering his exposed interface array. He doesn’t know where this sudden shyness has come from; he’s been berthing Sunstreaker and Sideswipe for months now, and he’s never been a prude. But then again, they’ve never done this before either; they’ve never serviced themselves while on display for one another.

                “All right, so rules,” Sideswipe began, the tips of his fingers trailing up and down one gleaming thigh. His interface panel has already slid away, the tip of his spike excitedly peeping out of its sheath.

                “Rules? There are rules to this insanity?” Ratchet grumbled, shifting in place again. He was too old to be sprawled inelegantly on the floor like this. Maybe in his Academy days, but now he was Chief Medical Officer of the Autobot army!

                “Of course!” Sideswipe replied. “Or else it wouldn’t be any fun. So firstly, no valves. Spikes only. I want to see evidence of overload,” he said, smirking at Ratchet. Sideswipe’s optics were full of mischief and a simmering arousal. Damn the fragger; he was enjoying himself!

                “Second, you gotta be touching yourself at all times with at least one hand. You can vary speed or the heaviness of your touch. But you can never let go.”

                Ratchet arched an orbital ridge. “And third?”

                “There is no third,” Sunstreaker answered for his brother. “Sides can’t count that high.”

                “Frag you,” Sideswipe said cheerfully, his optics glued to Ratchet’s lap as if willing the medic’s hands to move by sheer willpower alone. “Who ever holds out the longest is the winner. So are we all set?”

                In answer, Sunstreaker’s interface panel snapped open, the sound as loud as a blaster shot in the otherwise quiet room. “You gonna do a countdown or what?”

                “Can do. Ratchet, you ready?” Sideswipe asked.

                Ratchet sucked in a large gust of air through his intake, hoping the action would dispel his apprehension. It was just a bit of self pleasure. So what if his lovers would be watching? It wasn’t like they hadn’t seen him in the throes of passion before.

                “Yes. All set,” he replied through gritted denta. If possible, Sideswipe’s grin widened.

                “Well, then. On one. Three.... twooooo....” Sideswipe drawled, hand hovering over his slowly pressurizing spike. Despite the thread of anxiety coursing through him, Ratchet felt his own length respond to the familiar sight of his lover’s equipment.

                “One and a half...”

                “Get on with it!” Sunstreaker snarled, kicking out a leg and just missing a connection with Sideswipe’s foot.

                “One!” Sideswipe proclaimed triumphantly.

                Ratchet’s optics dropped to his lap, somehow still too embarrassed to watch as the twins began to touch themselves. Instead, he ghosted a hand over his spike housing, feeling the tip of his cord with two fingers. He lightly circled the head, his helm snapping up when Sideswipe made a pleased humming sound.

                The red twin had one arm stretched out along the seat of the couch; his other hand gripped his fully erect spike, thumb pressing and stroking the sensitive nodes just beneath the flared head. Sideswipe had his legs spread wide, knees slightly bent, and his array was fully and proudly exposed to anyone who wanted to see. And Ratchet had to admit… he didn’t mind seeing. His engine gave a little rev at the provocative sight

                “You are such a slut,” Sunstreaker commented as Sideswipe preened under Ratchet’s gaze.

                “Yeah? And?” Sideswipe returned, making no rebuttal.

                It hadn’t taken Ratchet long to realize that Sideswipe loved pleasure. Loved getting it, loved giving it, and definitely loved thinking up new ones to make it. It hadn’t been helped when they had come to Earth… hundreds of cultures with hundreds more positions, scenarios, and kinks. Sideswipe had absorbed it all and was continually incorporating human sexplay into theirs. So far, neither Sunstreaker nor Ratchet had found reason to complain. Ratchet suspected that today’s… ‘activity’… had been inspired by something on the humans’ internet.

                And despite his words to his brother, Sunstreaker was only a smidgen more reserved than Sideswipe, once you got him behind closed doors.

                Right now, he was as open as Sideswipe. His knees were spread wide and his aft was perched on the very edge of the chair seat as he insolently leaned against the back. His spike glistened in the room’s dim lights; as Ratchet watched, Sunstreaker licked a long stripe across his palm and glided it along his shaft. The entire time, Sunstreaker’s darkened optics remained locked on Ratchet’s, lipplates curved up just slightly.

                “You two are having a good time with this, aren’t’ you?” Ratchet grumbled, turning his attention back onto his now nearly completely pressurized spike.

                Sunstreaker shrugged, the action just visible in the corner of Ratchet’s optic. “Something to do. And I like watching you.”

                “Hey,” Sideswipe said, pouting. “What about me?” he asked. He arched his back just so as his hips pushed his cord up into his encircling hand on the next stroke.

                “I can watch you any time I want,” Sunstreaker said, but Ratchet noticed that his optics were admiring as they trailed over his brother’s form. Ratchet didn’t think that one could every really tire of Sideswipe, no matter how many times you laid hands on his frame. Even now, Ratchet’s fingers itched to swat Sideswipe’s hands aside and stroke him into a writhing, begging mess.

                Ratchet’s optics flicked back over to Sunstreaker. He leisurely continued to palm his spike tip, the fingers of his opposite hand stroking around the base in little circles. Ratchet’s mouthparts moistened as he remembered the last time that hard, throbbing length had slid over Ratchet’s glossa. Ratchet had been most attentive; Sunstreaker had moaned and trembled and pleaded for release before Ratchet had been through with him. It had been most satisfying, and Ratchet couldn’t stop the quick grin at the remembrance.

                “Mmm, you’re so pretty, Ratch,” Sideswipe purred appreciatively. Ratchet ducked his head, unable to stop the embarrassed wash of heat that the words caused. Unconsciously, he leaned back a little farther, his free hand landing atop his thigh and clenching on the plating before stroking up to his pelvic seam. He gasped as his fingers dipped below the armor there and tweaked a sensitive bundle of cables just above the hip joint.

                “Primus. Isn’t he pretty, Sunny?” Sideswipe asked. The sounds of metal sliding against metal were slowly growing louder in the otherwise quiet room.

                “Yes,” Sunstreaker answered, his words just the slightest bit static-filled. Ratchet saw Sunstreaker’s hand tighten around his spike and speed up, circling the head on each upstroke.

                Sideswipe continued. “After this, I say we grab Ratchet and frag him senseless. Both of us in his valve. We haven’t done that since that first time. I bet you’re getting nice and wet, aren’t you, Ratchet? I know I am.”

                As if understanding Sideswipe’s words, Ratchet’s valve calipers clenched down tight, lubricant pooling just under the panel cover. Unconsciously, Ratchet’s strokes picked up speed as he recalled when they had arranged him in their laps and penetrated him at the same time. He hadn’t been able to walk properly for two days after, but the overload had been more than worth it.

                “And your spike looks so good, Sunny,” Sideswipe crooned. “I can’t wait to taste it after. Drenched in our transfluid and Ratchet’s lubricants. I’m gonna suck you ‘til you’re hard and lick you until you overload again.”

                “You’re cheating,” Sunstreaker accused. Ratchet observed Sunstreaker’s hand stroking his spike in quick, rough motions, his hips pushing it up into the tight circle of his fingers. Ratchet couldn’t blame him; the image produced by Sideswipe’s words was awfully exciting.

                “Never said we couldn’t talk,” Sideswipe replied with a grin. He was rubbing the central seam of his chassis, digits dancing over the plating in inviting patterns. He mimed a kiss in his brother’s’s direction as Sunstreaker’s hungry optics followed the trail of Sideswipe’s fingers.

                “You know you’ve got a mouth on you,” Sunstreaker said, referring to Sideswipe’s tendency to babble filthy things during interfacing. He had also picked up Earth languages very quickly, latching onto slang of various cultures as if he had been born to it. Some of the things that came out of Sideswipe’s mouth were surprising… but always managed to be arousing.

                Sideswipe’s free hand left his chassis, and he delicately licked a digitip before sliding it past his lipplates. Both Ratchet and Sunstreaker could see the way the cables in his neck and throat area clenched and released as he sucked. Ratchet’s rhythm on his spike stuttered, optics fixating on Sideswipe’s mouth as he removed the finger, now glistening with oral lubricants.

                “Oh? Do I now?” he said suggestively. He smirked at Sunstreaker’s growl.

                “Or would you rather fuck me up against the wall after I’ve sucked you back to pressurization? I’m so _soaked_ ,” Sideswipe said, his valve cover snapping open. A rush of lubricant welled up over the edges, trickling down to pool under his aft.

                “I could use a good pounding right now. And I think we’ve learned that Ratchet likes to watch,” Sideswipe said, one optic closing in a wink as he glanced down at Ratchet’s lap.

                Ratchet caught himself and lightened his grip into something more teasing instead of designed to throw him into overload in a matter of moments. Damn Sideswipe to the Pits! Sunstreaker was right; Sideswipe knew exactly what to say to work them up into a frenzy of lust.

                “Maybe we should put _you_ in the middle,” Ratchet suggested, after gaining control back over his vocalizer. Two could play at this game. “You loved it. The first time I’ve ever seen you shut up.”

                Sideswipe’s lipplates curled up at in a fond smile as his optics took on a faraway look; he was probably accessing the memory files as Ratchet spoke.

                “Mmmm,” Sideswipe moaned, shifting sensuously. “Yeah, baby. We could do that too. Whatcha think, Sunny? You want to help Ratchet put me in my place?”

                Sunny straightened a little, his optics shutters snapping open. He glared first at Sideswipe and then at Ratchet with a narrowed gaze, his strokes noticeably slowing.

                “Now you’re both doing it,” Sunstreaker said.

                “Well, then, dirty talk _me_ , bro. Tell me how you’d like to get Ratchet on his knees and shove into him while I eat out your valve. Or how you could lick mine, as Ratch rides you. Tell me, Sunny. How do you want me? Any way you want it; you know I’ll make you feel good,” Sideswipe promised, voice deep and dark.

                “Sides...” Sunstreaker groaned a protest, his head dropping back as he brutally gripped his spike.

                “I want to spike you,” Ratchet said, joining in. He could see where the fun in this was; Sunstreaker was slowly but surely coming apart in front of them. Ratchet wanted to see him fall and shatter into a thousand, beautifully delicate pieces.

                “I’m going to take you against that wall there,” Ratchet said, using his chin to point at the small stretch of unadorned wall next to the door.

                “I’m going to make you _beg_ for it,” Ratchet continued, his ventilations coming faster with the code of thought. “Make you scream for me to finish you off, until everyone in the hall comes knocking to ask if we’re under attack.”

                Sunstreaker stiffened, hand flying over his length. His optic shutters were tightly closed, plating flared to dispel excess heat.

                Suddenly, Sunstreaker moaned and thick spurts of transfluid erupted from his spike, dripping over his fingers to spatter onto the floor between his legs. Ratchet licked his lippates, optics unable to look away from every spurt, every clench of tension cables in those strong thighs.

                “Now who’s cheating,” Sideswipe muttered, and Ratchet glanced at him to see the red twin’s optics closed as well, his expression twisted as his denta dug into his lower lipplate.

                “Never said...” Sunstreaker said, gasping and twitching, “... no bond transference.”

                Sideswipe shuddered, one hand firmly gripping the base of his spike. He was completely motionless otherwise.

                “That’s true,” Ratchet added, pleasure curling low in his abdomen. Watching Sunstreaker overload had almost pushed him over the edge, and he was _so close_. He wanted to get up and walk over, add his transfluid to the spatters decorating the normally pristine surface of Sunstreaker’s abdominal armor. But he held himself back, barely.

                Sideswipe shakily laughed, finally softening his grip and sliding it back up his twitching spike. Small shivers continued to wrack his frame as he looked up through slitted optic shutters. His gaze was directed at Ratchet

                “Nice,” he said, optics shining with admiration. Ratchet smirked back, a little proud of himself.

                “What are you going to do if you win, Ratchet?” Sideswipe asked. He was slowly regaining his earlier confidence, shoulders relaxing now that the immediate threat of overload had apparently passed. Ratchet wondered what he was up to.

                “’If’?” Ratchet asked, using every ounce of willpower he had to slow his strokes, lighten his touch.

                “If,” Sideswipe repeated with a quick grin. “You want any particular... favors... from us?”

                Ratchet’s optics were drawn back to the vee of Sideswipe’s thighs, the overflowing valve. 

                “Ohhh,” Sideswipe said in understanding. He hooked his thumb around the base of his spike while the last two fingers of his hand tapped just above the rim of his valve. “How do you want me? Up against the wall like Sunny?”

                Ratchet could hardly process even the simplest line of code at this point. The medic knew that if he entered into another innuendo conversation like the one that had pushed Sunstreaker over the edge, Ratchet would likely lose the battle. Sideswipe was simply too good and had too much practice learning all their hot buttons.

                So Ratchet fell back on action.  Bracing himself and keeping a hand on his spike, Ratchet rolled to his side and then onto his knees. Sideswipe’s optics widened as Ratchet shuffled the few feet between them and threw a leg over Sideswipe’s closest thigh.

                “What are the rules on touching the other contestants?” Ratchet asked, vocalizer fritzing at the tortured expression Sideswipe was now sporting. Ratchet’s spike was mere inches from Sideswipe’s faceplates. From the clear longing in Sideswipe’s optics, Ratchet knew that all Sideswipe wanted to do right was lean forward and wrap his lipplates around Ratchet’s spike. Ratchet trembled at the thought, because it certainly had its appeal.

                “No touching,” Sideswipe rasped out.

                “Oh. Well, that’s too bad,” Ratchet said, making a show out of palming the head of his cord and thumbing the nodes under the sensitive tip.

                “Yeah, it is. Do that again,” Sideswipe pleaded as Ratchet slid a hand down his thigh, scraping his fingers against the shivering plating.

                “What? This?” Ratchet asked, continuing to swirl his fingers around the spike’s head.

                “Oh, yeah, baby,” Sideswipe sighed, optics locked on Ratchet’s hands. “You are so sexy, Ratch.”

                Sideswipe’s glossa came out and licked at his lower lipplate, making it shine in the overhead light. Ratchet desperately wanted to lean down and bite it, lick his way into Sideswipe’s temping mouth. Primus, Ratchet was so close. Why couldn’t Sideswipe just overload already?!

                “What else do you want me to do?” Ratchet asked, almost desperately. Maybe if Sideswipe talked about it, he would lose control?

                “Mmm,” Sideswipe hummed, leaning forward so that his lipplates were perilously close to the tip of Ratchet’s throbbing spike. “Now I kinda wish that I had allowed valves. Cuz I’d love to see you finger yours. Wouldn’t you, Sunny?” he asked. He turned his attention across the room to where a sated Sunstreaker sprawled, watching them with an intent stare.

                “Open up for him,” Sunstreaker rumbled. The command sent a thrill through Ratchet, and his valve panel slid aside. Instantly, his thighs became slick with lubricant. The hot wash of fluid across his sensitive plating made Ratchet hiss and wobble in place. He widened his thighs, leaning behind him to brace himself on one hand.

                Sideswipe’s ventilations caught as now both Ratchet’s spike and valve were presented to him. “Oh, baby,” Sideswipe murmured. “Look at how wet you are.  I can’t wait to slide in there, feel you clench around me. Gonna take you over and over ‘til you can’t walk the next day.”

                Ratchet’s armor flared as a wash of heat came over him. Sideswipe’s words speared him with a straight shot of lust, and he groaned in resignation. The pleasure that had been coiling for so long, exploded, moving through his valve and down through his oversensitive spike. Even clamping down on his length couldn’t stop the overload.

                He collapsed forward, gripping Sideswipe’s knee for support as he shook, transfluid striping Sideswipe’s leg and the ground between them.

                Ratchet’s spike was still twitching when he felt himself flipping over backwards. He landed on his back with a loud clang, his optics blindly staring upwards. There were hot hands on his lower belly and then his thighs, spreading them wide. Then a thick spike was pushing past his spasming valve rim and bottoming out.

                “Finally!” Sideswipe exclaimed, almost immediately withdrawing and slamming back home. “I thought you… were _never_ gonna overload. When did you… ah!... become such a… tease?” he said, words static-laden amidst small moans.

                “Been hanging around you too often,” Ratchet murmured back, hands weakly gasping at Sideswipe’s hips as they pistoned back and forth.

                “Never,” Sideswipe whispered and thrust deep, shuddering, his spike twitching. Ratchet felt hot transfluid fill the depths of his valve and overflow it, seeping along Sideswipe’s seated spike to further slick Ratchet’s thighs. His valve calipers tightened reflexively, prompting a strangled groan from Sideswipe as he gently rocked against Ratchet’s pelvis. After several long moments, he slowly sagged down across Ratchet’s chassis like a deflating balloon.

                “I won,” he said, cooling fans whining a protest as he propped himself up on his elbows. He looked down into Ratchet’s faceplates with a tired, but very smug grin.   

                “You cheated,” Ratchet retorted, too strutless with pleasure to really complain.

                “Didn’t,” Sideswipe insisted. “Did I, Sunny?” he said, looking up at his brother.

                Ratchet looked up at Sunstreaker, the yellow twin’s faceplates upside down. “Cheated,” Sunstreaker confirmed. “Next time… we’re gagging you.”

                Sideswipe chuckled, disengaging his spike with a wince and flopping on to the floor next to Ratchet.

                “Deal,” he said, still grinning widely.

                Ratchet groaned and looked longingly at the berth, wondering for the thousandth time what made him decide to ever enter the Twins’ clutches. ‘Next time’? There was going to be a next time?

               


End file.
